


Dry-Land Drowned

by unendingexhaustion



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Drowning, Emetophobia, Gen, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Multiple Endings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 06:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unendingexhaustion/pseuds/unendingexhaustion
Summary: The reach of a god is long indeed, and a disobedient warlock has nowhere to run.





	Dry-Land Drowned

**Author's Note:**

> Written right after Fjord's most recent dream (Episode 51? 52? Not sure), so beware of spoilers!

This was worse than the nightmares. Fjord’s muscles twitched and ached in protest, the helpless gagging doubling him over with its violence. Each spasm of his body was accompanied with a spray of icy seawater, far too cold to be natural. The salt of it burned his mouth and throat as it tore through him, the tears dripping from his eyes joining the ever-spreading puddle of salt water on the ground at his feet. He gagged again. It was as if a gate to the depths had opened inside of him, and now the entire ocean was trying to escape through his throat. The force of the next spasm brought him to his knees, his hands hitting the ground as another jolt of seawater forced its way out of him. Distantly, he was glad he’d been alone on watch. What a picture he must make, on his knees in the mud, face dripping with salt water and saliva and desperately gasping for air. They wouldn’t have been able to help, not with this. Instead they’re sleeping, a warm and comfortable pile of bodies inside the dome of Caleb’s spell. Fjord had stumbled outside when the nausea hit, not wanting to disturb the others. That had been…a while ago. It felt like eternity, but could have been anywhere between a few minutes to hours. The muscles of his abdomen burned with waves of white-hot pain as the retching continued. Each breath he took might as well have been laced with powdered glass for how it clawed at his raw and swollen throat. He was shaking now, uncontrollable tremors that threatened to buckle his elbows and send him sprawling into the muddy water pooling around his hands.  


“Punish.” The new word his patron had given him, all those weeks ago back in Xorhas. Being crushed to death in the coils of Uk’otoa had been awful, but he’d moved past it quickly. He’d thought that was it. How stupidly fucking cocky he’d been. Nothing but dreams and a little water? Nothing to worry about! But now here he is, struggling not to collapse as an angry serpent god vents its wrath on his tortured body. The next wave seems to last longer than the others, scant moments between convulsions leaving almost no time to breathe. His desperate gasping sends icy water down into his lungs, the resultant coughing drives it up his nose. The lack of air sends spots dancing in the corners of his vision, and he barely has the presence of mind to catch himself before his face slams into the ground. He can’t trust his arms to support him anymore, so he flops over onto his side on the muddy ground. He’s crying in earnest now, helpless tears of pain as the cold mud slowly leeches the heat from his bones. Maybe he should have died, back when the Tide’s Breath was sabotaged. If he has to unleash Uk’otoa or live in fear of its punishment every day? Maybe he should have drowned, gone to a sailor’s grave and not lived this borrowed time by the grace of a god who was locked away for a reason! The world is blurry. The muscles of his abdomen have begun to give out, the gagging convulsions as he vomits growing weaker and weaker. It seems like every other breath is water, but he’s losing the strength to cough it out of his lungs. He can feel it, settling like a weight in his chest. The cold is a spreading numbness, a fog building between his mind and his eyes. Water drips from the corner of his mouth. The black dots at the edges of his vision merge and grow and overtake him, and in the black opens a vast yellow eye, slitted and furious.

“O B E Y.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are two endings to this piece. Would you rather see the good or bad one first? Vote in the comments!


End file.
